


Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train

by heavenisalibrary



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [20]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2202429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Good morning," he says, and she loves that too — loves waking up to him, but even more she loves him waking up to her, because she knows he rarely sleeps, and she knows it’s a great show of trust and content in her presence that he does so, and it has the added benefit of dropping his voice about two octaves and giving it a sort of scratchy quality that she thinks is about the sexiest sound in the entire universe. And she should know, because she’s been to the end in back. He sweeps his hand up and down her back and pulls her closer, and she practically purrs as she settles against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: river/doctor + general snuggling/spooning

Domesticity doesn’t suit her at all. She can barely cook, she hates doing laundry, and the idea of hostessing makes her want to claw somebody’s eyes out. She was an assassin way too long to play at being a homemaker. 

Still, waking up in her flat in her bed curled into her husband in her time is as wonderful a feeling as any that comes to mind.

It’s chilly in her flat — she doesn’t heat it much, and it’s winter now, but she’s not normally around long enough to be particularly bothered. She huddles deeper beneath the duvet and shifts so that she’s laying almost entirely on top of him. One arm draped over his chest as it gently rises and falls, one leg tangled between his, her head on his shoulder. He’s not awake yet, but he pulls her closer even still, his arm tightening around her as he exhales in a low hum.

She doesn’t get many chances to really look at the Doctor. He’s always moving, and he seldom sleeps. His face is calm and relaxed in a way it never is when he’s conscious, and there’s a bit of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips that twitches up slightly as he dreams. His hair is a bigger mess than usual, flopped flat over his face and sticking up where it presses into the pillow. She watches his eyes shift beneath the thin skin of his eyelids, and traces her gaze over the fine planes of his face, the prominent angle of his nose, the silly contour of his chin. She loves his long, slender neck and how it dips into those collar bones she just wants to bite. She adores the slope of his shoulders, and the soft hairs on his chest. She’s particularly fond of the mole next to his right nipple, and she slides her hand up slightly to press the pad of a finger to it very gently. He stirs a bit, his hand flexing against her back, and she smiles.

"Good morning," he says, and she loves that too — loves waking up to him, but even more she loves him waking up to her, because she knows he rarely sleeps, and she knows it’s a great show of trust and content in her presence that he does so, and it has the added benefit of dropping his voice about two octaves and giving it a sort of scratchy quality that she thinks is about the sexiest sound in the entire universe. And she should know, because she’s been to the end in back. He sweeps his hand up and down her back and pulls her closer, and she practically purrs as she settles against him.

"Morning," she says, kissing his shoulder.

He hums in response, and she rolls away from him a bit and onto her back so she can stretch — she extends her arms over her head and arches her back off of the mattress and hears him make a choked sound in the back of his throat. She smiles a bit, and then nearly yelps in surprise when he’s suddenly wrapped around her again, extending an arm over her stomach and pulling her into him so that his front presses to her back. He brushes her hair aside and kisses the back of her neck, the side of her neck, and she sighs contentedly.

"This is my favorite outfit of yours," says the Doctor, "which is a considerable declaration given how lovely yours tend to be."

"I’m not wearing anything," River says.

"I know."

"Cheeky!" she says, grinning as he nuzzles his nose into the side of her neck, making her squirm against him. He holds her all the tighter for it. "In that case, right back at you."

"Good," he says, a hand sliding down over her side and flattening against her stomach as he pulls her back into him, molding her body into his. "Then let’s just wear these outfits, always."

"Clara might object, my love."

"Don’t be dense," says the Doctor, pausing and gulping as she presses her hips back into him. His hand flexes against her stomach, and he scrapes his teeth against the top of her shoulder. "We’re both reasonably clever. We can cook up a perception filter strong enough to trick anyone into thinking we’re wearing suitable attire for any situation — meanwhile —"

River lets out a bark of laughter. “That’s a rubbish idea. Exactly how much do you think we’d get done if we tried to do it all naked, hm?”

"Oh, I’d get loads done,” he murmurs, leaning over her so that his lips brush against her cheek. She cranes her neck to look at him.

"And what about all that world saving? How much of that would we accomplish?"

"Not everything is about saving the world, River Song,” he says, and then leans further over her and kisses her, swallowing her smile and her quiet laughter.

She reaches her own hand down her body to cover his larger one, tangling her fingers with his and guiding it between her legs. He slips his hand out from underneath hers and instead places it over top, carefully controlling her motions as both of their fingers rub against her clit and slip over her folds. He makes her tease herself, his grasp on her tightening when she tries to ease the emptiness with her fingers, and she in turn slides her hips against him until he’s panting into her mouth. He pulls away from her lips and she takes a gasping breath. At that exact moment he removes his hand from between her legs to instead bring her leg up and over his hip behind her, and she wriggles a bit, wanting to him to hurry up as he lines himself up with her and she guides him into her without prelude.

"Some things are more important," he says hoarsely against her ear as he begins to move within her. She reaches back to tangle a hand in his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp and whining as he twists his hips just so.

"Sex is more important than saving the world?" she asks.

"I wasn’t talking about the sex," says the Doctor, beginning to move a bit faster. It’s always quick when they do this in the morning, and she likes it that way — so much of their relationship is a slow burn, not always in a good way. Sometimes it’s nice to have a sure, quick release. He kisses her shoulder, and she arches her back, giving him a slightly different angle that makes him groan and bite down on the side of her neck, and that’s all it takes to send her over the edge. She feels her body tremble beneath his large hands as they caress her, her eyelids fluttering against the light as she gasps for air, and he thrusts into her a few more times before he cries out her name and falls over the edge.

Her skin feels almost raw with the intimacy — casual, expected, calm morning sex with the light streaming in ever-so-slightly from between the parted curtains in the barely-worn mattress she bought with him nagging her the whole way nearly a decade ago. His touch is softer than usual, she thinks, or maybe she’s just barer, and ever kiss he peppers onto her skin as he pulls away from her so that she’s laying on her back and he’s hovering over her looks like champagne bubbles behind her eyelids as she closes her eyes. 

He kisses her nose.

"I was talking about you."

"I know," River says, "but I like to hear you say it."

"Narcissist," he says, kissing her eyelids as she slowly opens her eyes.

"Enabler," she shoots back. She reaches up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him to her for a long, thorough kiss that warms her from head to toe.

"Marry me," he says when he pulls back to breathe, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Been there, done that," she says. "Almost ended the entire time-space continuum, honey, I think we can consider it unforgettable."

He snorts. “Always such a pessimist, Professor Song. Our marriage saved the entire time-space continuum.”

"Semantics," River says, "meanwhile, I didn’t even get a proper dress, and you looked like a homeless person."

"The long hair was cool. Long hair is cool —”

She starts to protest but he hushes her with another kiss.

"— and we’ll just have to do something about that dress, then, won’t we?"

"I thought you were against clothes, now."

"For most occasions," the Doctor agrees, "they’re entirely unnecessary, especially when you’ve got that all going on down there —"

She rolls her eyes, wondering if she’ll ever live that down.

"— but for a special occasion, well. Every bride ought to have a dress. So like I said. We’ll have to do something about that."

"I suppose we will," she says, wondering at his unique ability to propose to her a hundred different ways and never do it very well.


End file.
